There's a special level of hell reserved for those who make noise when there are people who are hung over. And, according to a very distressed Phillip, there was an exclusive torture chamber near Satan's personal throne for whoever was making this train run around the District 6 Suites.

"Freddy, kill me now..." he muttered in his pillow, pleading for the sweet release of death over having to hear the chug-chug-chug of that damnable toy train or the heavy steps of the owner walking around.

Grabbing a hoodie and sweatpants, Gray stepped out and yawned, "Mind keeping it down, sir? Some of us can hear colors." Worse, he had set up his practice time ten minutes from now. Thanks Dandy, you became today's alarm clock.